


Survival Instincts

by bacillicide



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, F/M, Kidnapping, Winter Soldier!Bucky, reader is not a damsel in distress, seriously don't try to fit into the canon timeline it'll make no sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bacillicide/pseuds/bacillicide
Summary: You just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time: where Bucky's riddled mind can see taking you hostage as the quickest route out. That one coincidence pulls the thread that unravels your life.





	Survival Instincts

_Pain_.

You groaned as you came to, your fingers tangling in the seat belt as your mind struggled to remember back. You remembered you had been going to meet your brother at SHIELD, he had needed your help with something he said. It wasn’t too unheard of, you doing contract work for SHIELD, but there had been something in his voice that made you jump in your car to drive over immediately.

You managed to undo the seat belt and kick open the door to the car. It was then you were able to appreciate exactly the situation you had found yourself in. The road was lined with the wreckage of cars, smoke billowing from engines and in the distance you could hear gunfire. You reached back into the car and grabbed the gun you kept under the seat. It’s weight was reassuring in your hands. Even though you weren’t officially an agent and you frankly spent the vast majority of your time holed up in a lab somewhere, your brother had made sure you had the ability to protect yourself.

But you’ve never had to draw on that training before now.

You hesitantly looked out below the overpass. Cars were turned over down here too, you must have been passed out for the mass exodus of people because it was like a damn ghost town. You shivered, scanning for any sign of movement. The gunfire had stopped which caused your body to relax. The first thing you should do, really, was find an ambulance. A scene this large there was bound to be medical assistance nearby.

You were still leaning over when someone’s arm caught you in an iron grip around the neck. The gun dropped as your hands went up instinctively to try to pry the arm from your neck. The grip was rock solid, even with your fingers digging into his skin it never faltered. Other than quiet breathing, your attacker made no noise. You felt the cold end of a gun pressed against your head which halted your struggles altogether. Your already ragged breathing accelerated as you tried to keep the panic at bay. Once you panicked you knew your chances of getting out of this would dwindle down to zero.

He moved you harshly, so you were facing a blond man who looked very, very alarmed. You squinted at him for a moment before realizing it was _Steve fucking Rogers_ , aka Captain America. You hadn’t realized it was him at first because he was wearing civilian clothes rather than that patriot outfit you found _so_ tacky.

“Bucky, you need to let her go.” He says, his hands splayed out in front of him as if he was the one that needed to be surrendering.

You flinch as the man’s grip increases on your neck, clearly agitated.

“(Y/N),” the panicked voice of your brother comes from behind and you curse him in that moment. Go ahead, corner the guy who had a gun to your head. That seemed like a brilliant plan.

The grip on you increased when suddenly you felt yourself being lifted. You screamed when you realized he was jumping, with you in his arms from the overpass. He landed smoothly on the roof of a car that groaned under the impact. He jumped to the ground, setting you on your feet and grabbing you roughly by the upper arm. You look up and see the faces of Steve Rogers and your brother, staring helplessly.

 

He’s pulling you by the arm now, trying to gt you to run. You took that moment to drop your full body weight hoping to unbalance him, twisting your body to land a blow against his legs. Nothing happened however, and you slowly looked up to lock your eyes with his, the dread growing in your stomach.

His expression was impassive.

Then he lifted the gun in his other hand and the blow to your head was enough to knock you back out.

-

You groan as you come to for the second time in one day. You try to roll your curiously numb shoulders only to feel agony jolt through them in pinpricks. You realize they’re tied behind you back, tightly and very, very uncomfortably. The room you find yourself in—you’re only assuming it’s a room but that seems like a fair bet considering there’s a wall at your back—is pitch black. You try to assess the damage to your body, nothing life-threatening. But uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable.

“Hello?”

No response. You wonder if he’s left you here to die and it’s very likely you would at this point unless you did something about it. The ‘oh my god, I’ve been kidnapped’ hysteria could wait. You try to use your arms and the wall as leverage to stand up but the pain causes you to cry out so you slump back to the ground.

A light flashes on and you flinch from it. Apparently your cry has brought your captor in. You glance around the room, your eyes darting for an exit. There is a sheet of metal on one side of the room, blocking what you assumed was probably a window. The light is coming from a single bulb that hangs in the center of the room. Other than dirt and some debris, the room is empty.

You turn your eyes back to him as he kneels in front of you and you take the time to really look at him this time. You knew who this was, of course, because you weren’t an idiot. There was only one person Captain America would call Bucky: his best friend from the past, James Buchanan Barnes. Which really only raises more questions than it answers because he’s supposed to be dead for some seventy plus years now instead of taking you hostage in the middle of the street.

His face is still impassive, but you can sense some sort of discord in him, almost as if he’s warring with himself. His fingers reach out to touch the bruises blooming along your cheekbone and you flinch back, pressing your back against the wall as much as possible. His eyes widen and you see a flash of terror in his eyes.

You snort a little, “I can’t believe you’re scared of _me_ . You kidnapped me and gave me a blow to the head that probably scrambled my brain.” _and apparently eliminated my survival instincts_ you thought in horror.

But instead of lashing out in violence like you expected he froze completely, his eyes blown wide. He’s away from you so quick, almost as if you had burned him and then you’re plunged back into darkness. You groan, your head lolling back against the wall. Time to wait.

-

You must have dozed a little because next thing you know you’re jerked awake by the screams. Your heart jumps into your throat as you try to make yourself smaller, as small as you possibly can as the screams dwindle down to whimpers and harsh breathing.

That’s when you realize not only were the screams in the room with you, but they must have come from _him_ , as there’s not likely to be anyone else.

He must have been dreaming.

A shudder runs through you. You can’t imagine what would make a man like him scream like that and you don’t have the desire to find out.

“Are you okay?” You barely recognize your own voice, it’s hoarse and scratchy.

The whimpers stop but he doesn’t answer.

-

You sleep again.

The next time you wake it’s not from screams but the light. It’s him and you’re happy to see he’s brought a paper bag from some fast food joint and some bottles of water. He unties you, his gaze never wavering from you and you guess the threat is clear enough. You almost sob when the feeling returns to your arms, painful in the relief. Despite that, you hurriedly swipe one of the bottles of water, chugging it desperately.

It takes only a few seconds for him to grab your arm and take the bottle from you, “You’ll make yourself sick,” he grunts, setting it on the ground in front of you.

You glare at him a little, but your thirst is quenched for the moment so you reach for the bag, watching him. He does nothing to stop you, so you reach in and grab one of the burgers, scooting so your back was flush against the wall again. You eat and watch him, though he does nothing but watch you back. You reach for a second one, and he once again doesn’t stop you. “So, Bucky,” you say as you unwrap the second one, “what’s the plan here?”

You see him tense up at the use of his name, like he had before. He ignores you pointedly, since he’s obviously heard you.

You shrug and continue munching. “Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask after you finish.

“Already did,” he mumbles, so quiet you barely hear him.

You look at him carefully taking in his physical state as you reach for the water again. You finish off the bottle without protest from him. He looks worn out, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in ages. The bags under his eyes probably match yours, but he looks like he came out unscathed in the clash with Captain America. _That’s a pity_ , you thought, _but he’d still have the upper hand, even if he was injured_.

You reach for the second bottle, drinking this one more slowly as the two of you continue your staring contest.

Then he reaches for you.

You cringe, hitting your back against the wall in your haste to get away from him. Pain radiates through your body and he flinches, “I won’t hurt you, just... We have to go,” he says, his voice almost pleading with you.

You nod dumbly, because really what else are you going to do?

He nods and grips your upper arm, pulling you to your feet. You stumble a little but his grip is iron and it keeps you standing.

He moves quickly, with practiced ease he weaves the two of you in and out of the crowds. You stand idly by as he steals a car—an old beat up white Toyota. He pushes you, though not unkindly into the passenger seat before climbing into the driver’s side and taking off.


End file.
